


Waiting

by skinnerdy



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4085761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinnerdy/pseuds/skinnerdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a "story truth"  i did for school that my friend wants me to continue so im just posting it here so i can easily access it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

I first met him when I was five. 

His family was friends with my family, or something weird that my five year old brain didn’t really care about. I didn’t know much about him, just another social family event I was forced to attend, but my family always talked about how great he was, so I expected him to be some god-like man, beautiful, yet gentle, with a chiseled jaw, 6pack abs, glittering crown, and with a golden cloak draped on his bare shoulders. A five year olds Prince Charming.

But when I first saw him, he wasn’t that great. No golden cloak, no glittering cape, no chiseled jaw. Only an 11 year old boy in a silly red hat, faded yellow shirt and old blue jeans. Exactly what you’d expect an 11 year old boy to look like. Nothing special.

I think he was supposed to be funny. Any time he spoke, everyone around him would laugh their asses off. I guess I was just too young to understand his jokes so I never got what the big deal was. I’d laugh, sure, but just to prevent everyone from thinking I was too young to be with them all. Because a five year old totally fits in with a bunch of adults, right?

He was down with his family for summer break. I only saw him a couple of times that summer, then he was gone. I wasn’t really sad when he was gone, but everyone else kind of was, so little impressionable me was sad, but I got over it the minute I turned away.

He came back down each summer with his family. I kind of cared about seeing him. Each year I was a little more excited to see him

It was gradual so I never realized it but something was definitely growing. The young, undistinguished boy was growing into something more. His hat was no longer silly. His faded shirt and old, ragged jeans became a staple of his impressive stature. Soon I began to realize my family was right. He was funny. He was smart. He was attractive. I was growing increasingly infatuated with him, though I'd never admit the extent of it, even to myself. I convinced myself that he was just a great friend of mine. That I'd have other friends that I'd feel the same way about because we were just that close. Was it childish? Yes. But it made it easier when he left. 

But in 2010, it all changed. The red hat, the yellow shirt, the old jeans… all gone. This time, he had a chiseled jaw, 6pack, glittering crown and a golden cape billowing in the wind. As Miley Cyrus so eloquently put it "He came in like a wrecking ball". I saw the real him, the normal him underneath the theatrics but that didn’t mean the cape and crown weren’t really there. You can call the mirage symbolic, or psychotic, I don’t really care. But I saw it.  
It was as if a spot light was on him. He was bathed in a warm light that only ameliorated his regal state. He held himself strong and confident. Almost like he was a completely different person, but I knew the old him was still there. He didn’t really notice me that summer. I guess he never really noticed me the amount I wanted him to. It was like he was talking to a thousand different people each time we talked. But I still felt the conversations meant something. Again, probably me just being insane. But that didn’t stop anything. I cherished each conversation like it was my last, because I knew it would be the last pretty soon. 

That was the first year I cried when he left.

And waiting for him to come back was like waiting for paint to dry. 

 

Call me Amy Pond for how long I waited.

For the next few years, I was still in denial about how absolute my feelings were for him. I could still see his god like stance shimmering over the already noble grace he showed at all times. He started to notice me more than before. Maybe not as much as I’d like, but it was as if he was able to pinpoint me out of the teeming masses. 

Every night we’d have long conversations about what he had done that year. It was usually the same conversation the same night… Like he was reliving the experiences each night, and he created such a vivid expression of the stories he was telling. I was content with listening to his stories. No, I was happy./ Happy to listen to whatever he was saying, regardless of how many times I had already heard it.

I know, it sounds dumb. Some hormonal teenage girl, infatuated with some random guy. Okay sure, judge me all you want. I don’t care. Usually I’d make a big deal of how I am NOT in love with him. But in reality I just do not care. My life is an open book, and I may read it to you, but I sure as hell won’t explain it to you.

When I was with him, none of that mattered. People talked, and I showed them the finger not used for promises, love, pointing, or thumb wars. I’d listen to him even though he sounded like a broken record. Yet the day still came when the record shattered. He was gone. Again. I don’t know why I wasn’t ready. I knew it was coming. But holy hell it still hurt. 

I knew the stories he told by heart. All the details were etched deeply into my brain. Yet the spark was missing. The excitement he brought everything was gone in a flash. The bright summer days turned dull. And what happened next?

 

 

I waited. 

 

An entire year till I could see him again. The year was an eternity.

I had videos and pictures from the summer. I could recite everything he had said. But it wasn’t the same. The way his voice filled with emotion. The way he laughed at his own jokes. And I’d never hear the stories again. He’d have new stories the next year. Captivating stories, true, but I’d never hear the old stories again. I’d never get to relive the experiences with him again. Its like reading this fantastic book that was full of wonder and excitement. So beautiful you never want to close it and you just want to read it again and again and again. But right when you read the last word, some douche yanks the book out of your hand and tosses it in a bonfire. You watch the pages burn, the printed words becoming a faint smoke trail in your memory. The spark the book had that made it so fantastic is now a literal spark that is extinguished in only a fraction of a second.

I cried.

A lot.

His sad stories always brought tears to my eyes, but now the happy stories did too. Just memories. All I wanted was to see his silly red hat, faded yellow shirt, and old yellow hat. All I wanted was to see him.

One year…

 

11 months…

 

10 months…

 

9….

 

2011 came and went. 2012 did the same.

Each time the wait would be so long, and the month would be so short, but so great. 

 

And then I’d be waiting

 

Again.


End file.
